Turkey, 3AM
by A.j
Summary: Elizabeth hates the Middle East assignments. Spygate fic!


Title: Turkey, 3 A.M.

Author: A.j.

Rating: Parental Guidance Suggested

Notes: For Melyanna who wanted some Spy stuff! Er. Um. looks shifty

Summary: She hates the Middle East assignments.

&

As much as it's something of a non sequitur of her personality, Elizabeth loves explosives. All different types. High explosives, low explosives, blasting agents, and primary explosives. Anything that made something else go 'boom' and rain destruction down upon the masses was okay by her. As long as it was aimed at the right group, of course.

But there was just something so visceral about strapping a block of plastique to something and watching the resulting cloud of fire light up the sky.

Seen at a distance, explosions were pretty.

She didn't think it was a weird fetish or anything. Millions of people packed parks and bleachers to watch holiday displays fireworks all over the world. The only difference was that they usually didn't pack the materials and set the charges themselves.

Or kill people.

But they usually deserved it.

Elizabeth huffed a little as she took a blind turn around a dark corner, doing her best not to lose much momentum. The heavy sound of several sets of boots pounding on exposed concrete kept up a steady pace behind her, reminding her of the necessity to stay in the zone and not think too hard about the shiny little detonator and C-4 block she'd left under a pile of dynamite in the warehouse above her.

Her mental clock said she had four minutes.

The boots faltered a bit as the hit the last turn. She didn't bother turning around to check. Looking back was a Bad Idea and should have probably earned a boldfacing in her head, but she really shouldn't be thinking about stuff like this.

The door was two hallways ahead. Nice, solid, steel door that should have been hacked by her smart, funny, cute, intelligent partner.

Keep thinking good thoughts, Liz. Don't think about Budapest. That was an accident. It was only a month in a cast.

The door would be hacked dammit.

Her gloved hand shot out and grabbed one of the exposed pipes running along the underground tunnel, and she executed another hairpin turn.

The little Jack O'Neill in her head smirked and applauded. It really wasn't fair that she had an evil ex-spy in her brain constantly evaluating her performance. Even if he looked damn good in a suit.

And yeah, she was really failing at the whole focusing part of the evening.

She was going to blame that one on John.

She ducked a low-hanging light fixture, and her foot skidded on some loose concrete. Falling flat on her face was a near miss, but she did skin her shin and lost precious seconds putting her feet back under herself.

One more corridor. One more.

He HAD to insist chipping her for this mission. To 'observe and report' or something. Caldwell had enough damn footage of her mad dashes through catacombs. She should have said no. Should have pointed out that if he could track her through the shielded building, it would make a lot of damn sense that their 'hosts' could - and would - do the same thing. Encoded frequency her skinny ass.

The boots were sounding closer than she wanted them to be. So did the pissed off voices currently cursing her in Turkish. God, she hated the Middle East. Yeah, the food was good, and the work was plentiful, but her missions rarely landed her somewhere cool and filled with water and people in pretty clothes. No, she always ended up running through hot, dusty, underground tunnels with loose gravel and bad guys swearing at her in Turkish. And shooting at her.

There was a ping, and a tiny piece of concrete zipped past her face. Huh. Guess they'd remembered they had guns.

She tried to run a little faster. Somehow managed it.

She was going to kill John. Even if he'd looked all flustered and cute when she'd bent over to let him put the chip low on her spine. Poor boy'd almost burst a blood vessel when he noticed the little swirly tattoo on her hip. What was it about men and tattoos?

The door suddenly loomed a lot closer than she'd expected it to be. She only avoided a bloody nose by turning her body at the last second and doing a modified racquetball bounce off it. Luckily for her side, she avoided the handle, but just.

Jiggled the handle. It opened.

Okay, so she wasn't going to kill him for the chip thing. She rushed through the suddenly open area and pulled it tight behind her, grinning as the little green light suddenly went red, and then almost laughing as she heard two more loud thumps and even more swearing.

Not bothering to do a quick mocking taunt - Jack would be so displeased - through the bulletproof glass in the window, she hurried down the tunnel and towards her rendezvous location.

One minute twenty-six seconds.

Oh, yeah, she was so the girl.

She smiled brightly in the diffuse light of the tunnel. This had to be one of her personal best. Besides the whole tracking thing, this had gone really well. Not that she was telling John that.

He was so cute when she tortured him.

No, she really didn't want to examine those thoughts all that carefully.

She took the short hop off the graded floor a little fast and hissed. Apparently that skinned shin was a little more serious. Kept running though.

Fifty six seconds.

She could do this. She was doing this. Faster... faster...

She skidded under the grate at the end, and was suddenly looking at a sky chock-full of stars. And the back tire of a Jeep.

"Hi." John was staring down at her smiling. "Get your ass up here or you'll miss the best part."

"I'm going to kick you," she said conversationally, while hauling herself up and limping quickly around the side of the desert-camo vehicle.

"Hey, I'm the new guy. You could have said no, rather than flashing your back at me and trying to get me to look at your ass." The Jeep started, dirt and sand spraying behind them.

She raised an eyebrow at him before glancing back over her shoulder to keep an eye on the little mud hut that marked the top entrance point to the complex she'd just done a seven-minute mile through.

"You so liked it."

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

The hut vaporized.

"Never said I didn't."

She flipped around and grinned out at the desolate landscape. Okay, maybe Turkey wasn't _too_ bad.

-fin-


End file.
